Bittersweet
by SatiricalPhilosophy
Summary: Sometimes, love isn’t enough when hate's involved. She hates street racers, and he’s only a bitter, angry shell of who he used to be. The odds are against them. But they may just be perfect for each other if they can get past their issues. After 4th movie
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: Sometimes, love isn't enough—not when a hate that runs to your very soul nearly consumes you; not when, sometimes, you just can't let go of the past. She hates street racers, and he's only a bitter, angry shell of who he used to be. The odds are against them…but maybe, just perhaps…they're really just what the other needs…if they can get past their past demons, that is. _

_A/N: Follows after the fourth installment with only one difference being Dom got his clemency at the end and it's been a year after that, and he's still angry and bitter, thus making him a darker Dom...maybe. The first part being lazy on my part, I know, but it works. So, consider it AU, then. I don't normally dabble in fanfiction any longer, but I'm looking for a break from my serious works. Light and quick—just a break. _

Bittersweet

Never Think Never

_May 1__st__, _

_Never in a million did I think I'd be here, in this position—never. _

_A month ago, I was just plain, simple, timid Emily Bradshaw—just a normal 20 year old with serious social issues and paranoia from Kodiak, Alaska, come to L.A. to attend UCLA to major in English with a full scholarship, and to, more importantly, take care of Edwin—best friend extraordinaire—who had been diagnosed with cancer. It had been a big move, especially with me being barely out of high school and all, and never having been one to venture from the known very often. I told you, I had issues—that, or I was just a coward, one. Either way, it didn't matter, now. I had done it, despite my head screaming not to. And it had been fine…until now. _

_And now…_

_Now, I was wondering if, maybe, I should have listened to my head and stayed home. _

_Where it was safe. _

_Where it was safe and I wasn't currently failing my classes. _

_Where I wouldn't be in a hospital. _

_My life wouldn't be in complete chaos right now, and my heart and head wouldn't be torn apart. _

_And I would have never met Dominic Toretto—the liar, the bastard, the scourge of my life right now… The guy that somehow had wedged his way into my life, or had let me in his—one or the other. Either way, I hated him. And I wish I had never met him…I think, which is maddening enough as it is. _

_Either way, though, I didn't stay back home. _

_I'm here, and without any idea of what to do, now. _

_Typical. Biggest decision of my life, and I have absolutely no flippin' idea of what to do now. Just figures. I'm out, though—before I start the bitter diatribe I'm so prone so…and to face the man standing at my door. Crap. _

—_Emily _

* * *

_Part One--Fin. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Fast and the Furious and all recognizable characters belong to Universal. (I forgot to add it to the first chapter. This will be the only disclaimer, and applies for the entire story.)_

Bittersweet

I: And In the Beginning…

_One Month Earlier…_

Malls—she hated them.

Worse creation ever to be invented.

And as a tall, thin man stepped back into her, crushing her toes, she winced, squeaking a little in pain, glower intensifying as he glanced back at her in annoyance before his attention was drawn away by his pretty blonde company and friends and he started laughing again—_asshole._ It only confirmed her earlier declaration—never mind it had merely been a mental one; it didn't matter. Malls were horrible, period. Crowded, smelly, claustrophobic, and full of rude people she could spend her days doing without. She shivered, weaving in and out and around people, arms tightly crossed and shoulders hunched inward, head lowered a little, stopping, glaring and hoping, again, that this wouldn't take long.

_And why should it_?_ You're only here for one item, period. Stop being such a pansy about it. Just deal and stop complaining—it's annoying. It's for Edwin's birthday. _And anything for Edwin. Even if she did have to go and brave the place she hated most—well, second most; the beach took first position. But, thank God, at least he only wanted one thing, and she'd be damned if she didn't leave without it, and then she could leave this god forsaken place, and seclude herself in the old bookstore where she spent most of her time when she wasn't at school or at Edwin's house with him and Marcel.

Sad, really, but she was happy with her life as it was, pushing the nagging voice away as it tried to come to life again. And who cared if she was a bit of a recluse; it wasn't any of their business anyway. She had all she needed—Edwin and her father and her two malamutes Jocamo and Helena up in Alaska, and that was it. She didn't need anyone else, and she be damned if anyone else tried to move in.

_Except they already did, dingleberry. _

And she scowled fiercely, pushing the thought aside. No, they hadn't. And she wouldn't think like that. It was selfish, and—_you're selfish. _She was back to scowling harshly again, pushing the small, rectangular, black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her slim nose, pushing the thought away for later—never—inspection. Was she selfish? A little. But only with the people she loved, and she loved Edwin almost more than anyone. He was her first priority, especially now.

And she took a deep breath, swallowing hard, trying to keep her thoughts away from where they so desperately were trying to lead her, the real reason why she had chosen to move down to L.A., a city she was beyond _not _fond of. It was too hot for her Alaskan-self, being used to the cold, and she felt even more like a social outcast, the entire populous seeming to have a tan and a fondness for bikinis, whereas she was pale white and preferred jackets and cashmere turtleneck sweaters. Not to mention just how _big _L.A. was. True, she knew it was big when she had signed up for it, but _Christ_. However, it was worth it, just like the fact her pocket was about to be two hundred dollars lighter than before, and all on some collectable sword—or _katana_, as Edwin had called it when he had first seen it after dragging her here last Thursday for lunch—was worth it. She'd do anything to make sure Edwin was happy, especially now, when nothing was definite and—

_Stop it right there!_

And she took a deep breath, pushing _those_ thoughts out of her mind. No need for depression on top of annoyance. She brood another day; for now, she was content just to be paranoid as the crowd pressed into her, laughing and she wondered if they were laughing at her expense? Where they about to do something? And she shook herself, pushing a frizzy, curled piece of loose hair that had escaped the confines of her messy and looped pony tail behind her ear.

Of course they weren't. She was practically invisible, insignificant and unimportant and unseen, and oh how she wished it wasn't so hot she that couldn't wear a jacket—she always felt safer while wearing a jacket, call it a security blanket, but whatever. She just hugged herself even tighter, walking as fast as she could through the crowded mall, wanting to be out of there as soon as possible. Her social interaction was done for the day; all she wanted to do now was to just go to work and deal with the few regulars that always seemed to wander into _Love's Books_; she was used to them, and safe within the security of the dusty book shelves and thick novels; and then, she wanted to go home and curl up on the couch, watching old reruns of MacGyver…

Edwin always did tell her she needed to get out more.

And seeing the little kiosk station ahead of her, she rushed ahead, hastily making the transaction before turning, nearly colliding with another woman who gave her a dirty look, making her duck her head, glaring at the floor. It was time to go home, and thank god it was on the first floor. She didn't have to worry about any elevators or escalators and she could go home, now—or rather work, but it was still better than this hellhole. And Edwin had _so_ better love her after this, especially knowing how stressing it was for her to come to the mall or any large public places like this. She was a small town girl with a fear of the public, go figure. She couldn't help it, and she wasn't apologizing.

She just wanted out of there. So, head down, watching the floor and the feet in front of her, weaving in and out, a rush of relief passed through her when the clear glass, automatic doors leading to freedom loomed up ahead. And, aware of everyone around her, and dodging, shooting a nasty glare at someone else as they backed up into her, she darted for said door, passing the large, circular fountain in front of it and—

_Shit!_

Her foot slipped, something rolling beneath it, screwing her equilibrium, and she tumbled—hard—right into the very _solid_, _large_ back of a very _large_ man, knocking them both down from the unexpected force, scrapping her elbow, twisting her wrist, cheeks—face—flushing tomato red at the sniggers around her, and her breath stopped, eyes widening when her eyes met the very dark, very aggravated eyes of the man beneath her.

_Oh, shit._

And, without thinking, she leapt up and all but ran to the door, breathing quickly—almost hyperventilating—not quite, though. And only when she was in the safety of her little red Cavalier, did her breathing even out and her heart stop the erratic beating, and she groaned, letting her head drop onto the steering wheel in embarrassment—jerking up in shocked surprise as it beeped loudly. She slumped down immediately after, face falling. Well, this day was just _lovely_.

She shook her head, berating herself on her infamous klutzy ways; of course, she was the only person in the world that would fall because of a pen underfoot. That was just her luck. Just go figure. She sighed in aggravation, and turning the car on, pulled out of the space and headed back toward work.

_God…I didn't even apologize_.

Ugh.

* * *

_Forgive the typos and shortness. And just as a little note, already have several sections finished, and will post every Monday or Sunday. _

_Part Two—Fin. _


	3. Chapter 3

Bittersweet

II: Of Round Two and Damsels

"Em, really, I don't know what you're so worried about. It's not like you're ever going to see him again."

And she flopped back onto her ratty couch, making an _oomph _sound when she hit, legs hanging over the thinly-cushioned arm, her eyes closed. "It's the point of the matter, Edwin," she replied into the white cordless phone.

He snorted, and she could hear him rifling through something. "Yeah, your pride bruised itself and now you're mortified. Love, really, who cares if some over-muscled prick got mad at you for running into him. You'll never see him again, and if you do, well, you have your gay friend to kick his ass if he starts crap with you."

A moment's pause, and then she began to laugh—slowly at first, and then it became hysterical. Edwin? Kicking someone's ass? That was like saying she had a surviving chance of taking someone—anyone—on and winning. Unlikely and highly improbable—beyond, actually. She wasn't a fighter and neither was Edwin, at least not what she had seen. Then, again, he _had_ given Hardy Miller an ass-kicking that he would never forget after constantly bullying both of them all through their school years, the last straw being when he pushed and attacked her one night at the Drama's Club's little annual festival they had every year to raise money for that year's big, end-of-the-year play. Safe to say, it hadn't been pretty, and if she hadn't known with 100% certainty that Edwin would never hurt her, she'd have been terrified of him. But still, there was no surviving chance with _that_ guy—he'd pummel both her and him, and probably even Marcel, Edwin's lover, and Marcel wasn't the smallest man in the world as far as muscles go…Well, she definitely never looked forward to engaging in a fight with him, that was for sure.

She was still giggling insanely when Edwin cleared his throat in a mock-irritated, dry sarcastic way. "Thanks, Emily, real way to boost a guy's confidence."

And she snorted. "Oh, shut up, Ed. You know I heart you."

"Which is exactly why you're going to come out with Marcel and me tonight at La Rouge!" he exclaimed happily, and she groaned.

"Oh, noooo. There is no _way _you're dragging me along to one of your little bar-hopping, let's-teach-Emily-how-to-have-a-good-time-excursions again. Not a chance in hell, Edwin. Nu-uh. No way."

"But, Emmmm," Edwin began to whine, and she knew he was doing it on purpose. The asshole.

She shook her head, knowing he couldn't see it, but still doing it nonetheless. "Nu-uh, Edwin. You two go and have a good time without me. I'll only be a drag, anyway."

He grumbled. "Em-I-Leeee, c'mon. Make me happy?" And she could just imagine him making little puppy dog eyes, pouting. "Please?"

"No, Edwin, no. I'll only be a drag, anyway. Let's spare us both that pain."

"No, you won't! You're never a drag! Please? For my birthday? Please, please, please?"

"Nope," she quipped firmly, shaking her head. "Absolutely not."

Two hours later, though, she found herself dolled up in jeans that actually fit her nicely unlike her usual loose and faded ones, a black tank top and blazer, black and white chucks because she refused to wear anything else, knowing the chaos that would be, and enough hair gel and spray to hold down a elephant—a necessary procedure, she had been told, considering how difficult her hair was to work with, but soft…_Yeah_… As if the night couldn't get any worse… But she was being unfair. After all, she hadn't managed to make a complete fool out of herself—_yet_, a little voice whispered nastily in her head. Ugh.

Sitting at the round table in the corner at the low-lighted night club that was called La Rouge, the interior done in shades of red that didn't make her want to scratch her eyes out, she watched Marcel and Edwin at the bar, talking to one of their friends—or Edwin's friend, anyway. She recognized him as Luis, vaguely, never having met him but once or twice. Enough to know, though, that he was slowly making his way onto Marcel's short list due to his ever growing fondness of Edwin, the little twinkle in his eyes the tell-tell sign of said fondness. She shook he head, looking away, sipping the Virgin Screwdriver in front of her.

He'd be one seriously messed up little man if he stepped one finger out of line, and she liked that about Marcel. Not that he got jealous—no, that was annoying, but that he would take care of Edwin, as much as she loathed admitting it. That was her job, after all. The whole reason why she was here was to make sure he was properly taken care of, though looking at Edwin now, laughing and dancing with his friends, she would have never thought in a million he'd be the one with cancer, dying unless the treatments started to work.

And her heart stopped, and she swallowed hard, having done the one thing she really _hadn't_ wanted to do—think _that_ thought. He wasn't going to die—she wouldn't let him. He _couldn't_ die, just couldn't. He was her best friend. Had been with her since pre-school; he couldn't leave her alone like that. Not Edwin, not her Edwin with his sparkling baby blues and tousled blond locks that drove the boys—and girls—crazy. She swallowed hard, wishing, for once, she had something stronger to drink, looked at Edwin, and felt…utterly helpless, feeling suffocated, throat constricting painfully.

_No, no, no, no, no. _She wasn't going to think about that here, because then Edwin would pick up on it, because he picked up everything when it came to her, and vice versa. And if he picked up on it, she'd have to tell him because there wasn't a thing called lying between them, and then if she told the truth… He'd know how terrified she was, and then the evening would go to hell. She'd be forced to feel awkward and girly and coddled as Edwin tried to console her, Marcel watching the duo, knowing, while Emily had accepted him partially and even liked him more than anyone else besides Edwin, she'd never fully accept him into their tightly-knit fold, and he respected that. It was how the paranoid, tightly-wound girl was, and Edwin loved her, and because he loved Edwin, Marcel loved her by default…Not to mention her quirks were rather amusing, and all three of them were all very much aware of all of this. All the same, though, she had no intention of that happening. Because, while it was already embarrassing admitting that she was scared to Edwin, it was doubly so when Marcel was in the background watching.

So, seeing the happy couple making their laughing way over to her, she pushed all morbid thoughts away, resolving to deal with her unresolved insecurities later…eventually…maybe… Probably not, though. She didn't face things well—call her a coward and she'd agree. How sad was that?

"Emily! Love of my life!" Edwin called out to her, jovial grin on his handsome face as he pulled out a tall stool and slung his arm around Emily's shoulders. Marcel grinned, showing off pearly whites, throwing back whatever mix he was drinking.

Emily rolled her eyes, pushing Edwin away. "And here I thought Marcel was." And she smiled slightly, tugging lightly on her small ear lobe.

"Alas, so did I," the dark, mocha-skinned man said, leaning across the table with strong, muscular forearms, dark-nearly black eyes sparkling merrily. "It seems, though, you still manage to captivate all that come in your path."

And she snorted. "Someone's a little drunk tonight, aren't they?" she asked softly.

"Not yet, love," Edwin said, kissing her on her cheek before pulling Marcel up against his side, and she looked at the happy couple. They were so different. Edwin was blonde and blue-eyed, like a poster surfer-guy who had no ambition to go to college, working as a waiter at the local restaurant by the beach as he worked on being an established author, and Marcel was a successful entrepreneur in a family law firm—dark and dignified with close cropped hair and nice, expensive suits and colognes and a large two-story house that they both lived in. Honestly, she had no idea how the two had gotten together, something about when he came down here to visit his cousin they had ran into each other, and…love at first sight—poppycock, really, but who was she to put a damper on their whirlwind romance?

No one.

And she was happy for Edwin for finally finding someone to love…Okay, _true, _at first she had been seething jealous, _but_ she got over it, and had met Marcel, and… He had a certain charisma about him that pulled her in, made her comfortable…and it made her a little weary. But he was her friend, one of the two she had in L.A., and while she didn't need friends, she was happy he was a friend.

And suddenly, someone was calling Marcel's name, making all three glance up at the sound. She spotted two men whom she didn't recognize, and Marcel excused himself. Emily shrugged, sipping her drink.

"Aren't you going?" she asked after a minute.

Edwin reclined back on the backed-stool, arching an eyebrow. "Don't want my company?"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up. You know I heart you."

He flashed her a smile, and silence fell between the two of them. He glanced away from her, looking off and watching Marcel, expression one of deep concentration, brows pulled in a frown that matched the small one pulling his full lips.

"What's wrong? You know them?" she asked after a minute, knowing something was up.

He glanced at her. "They're two of his friends from college. I've met them a few times—Greg and Marcus."

She glanced at them, watching as Marcel and the two men fell in comfortable companionship. "You don't like them?"

"Hmm? No, they're fine."

Emily frowned, crossed her arms tightly. "Then, what is it, Edwin?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Nothing, Em, why?"

"You have that look on your face."

"What look?"

Why he was trying to play it off, she didn't know. "The look that says something's on your mind. What's up?"

He studied her a moment. "You should go and make friends, Em. Mingle. Have fun."

She sat up straight, lip curling in distaste, confused by why he was saying that. "I have friends. I'm having a ball."

Edwin took a drink. "No," he countered, "you have me and Marcel, and I can't imagine how thrilling it must be sitting her, practicing your wall flower skills."

"Shut up." And she flicked him. "I'm happy. Why's it matter?"

Edwin stared at her long and hard, staring into her thin, oval face and wide eyes. "Because, Em, you've always had me." She didn't like where this was going. "What're you going to do when—"

"Don't finish that, Edwin," she cut in sharply, voice low and rough, shaken. "_Nothing_'s going to happen, so just…just stop." Because she wasn't going to sit there and listen.

"Emily, you have to face—"

And anger and desperation welled up within her, and she interrupted him, standing up abruptly, saying, "The hell I do." And she walked away, pushing through the crowd, ignoring Edwin calling out behind her, knowing he was trying to follow after her. One of the perks of being 5' nothing and petite—you could disappear easy, and she was practically invisible with the crowd pressing in on her at all sides—she needed out. Needed to escape.

Heart racing, heat spreading through her, walls pressing in on her on all sides, she pushed people, not caring about the startled, outraged _heys _and _excuse you_. Not until she ran into the wrong person near the back of the club, near the restrooms and private rooms couples could use, anyway, when she found herself jerked back by a vice-like grip that she knew would leave an ugly bruise on her small wrist tomorrow—damn. And staring up at the tall, black-haired, muscular man with wide, scared eyes, trying to get away, he leered, "Well, aren't you a rude little bitch. Wasn't even going to say sorry."

And her heart skipped a beat, fear and desperation clawing its way through her. "Let go of me," she said softly, weakly, voice failing her. Had she mentioned she was absolutely no good at physical confrontation? Nope, she completely froze up, especially when they happened to be male and taking it upon themselves to back her into a dark wall, hands slowly inching to molest her, touching her with a too-rough of touch. And she cursed herself—_why_ had she been so stupid as to run off from Edwin? Why? Why? Why? But it didn't matter right now, just getting away from the man whispering vulgar things in her ear, telling her how he was going to teach her some manners, how he was going to fuck her hard…hands running down and over her body, grabbing, eyes sparkling sinisterly. And the more she kept pushing away from him, the closer he became, the more turned on it became. The evidence being the large hard-on straining against his tight leather pants.

"Let go of me!" she cried out, bringing her knee up to kick him in the groin only to be blocked, the man smacking her hard in the face, and she tasted blood.

"We're going to have fun, now. I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming, cunt," he whispered angrily, thrusting his hips into hers, and she felt tears of humiliation and outrage stinging her eyes, and she struggled even harder, knowing that there was no way she was getting out of this, having been pushed down into the hallway to one of the private rooms, struggling harder. Edwin would never find her if he got her in there.

"Edwin!" she called out knowing it was useless, desperate, and he slapped her again—hard—chin meeting her shoulder, disorientating, and as he pushed her into a room, slamming the door behind him, throwing her down on the bed, she winced as her head hit, a headache forming. And then, despite the pounding in her face and dizziness, when she felt him grab her, pulling her to him, crawling on top of her, she resumed struggling, clawing at his face with her short, cropped fingernails.

"Bitch!" he shouted angrily when she raked her nails down his face, smacking at him, and backhanded her with a closed fist, trying to rip at the shirt she wore—

And the door slammed open with a loud slam—was it torn off its hinges? She wasn't sure. Only aware of the man with green eyes and black hair being ripped away from her right before his fist connected with her, almost brushing her, and being thrown against the wall by a larger man… And her eyes widened, instant recognition hitting her—the man from the mall. _Oh…my… _Her thoughts trailed off, unable to think.

She watched as the newcomer—her rescuer?—pummeled her attacker, pummel him just like she always imagined he could to her. And then, after the black-haired man was bleeding and kneeling on the ground, holding his stomach, the newcomer grabbed him by the hair, throwing him out of the room, shouting in an angry, thunderous voice that sent a tremor of fear to her core, "You ever come near her again—"

And she stopped listening, wondering if she was dreaming, the turn of events far too unreal to possibly be anything but a dream, but when he turned on her, dark eyes angry, cold—far too cold—hers widened even more—almost comically—and she most definitely wasn't dreaming. And she was afraid—what was he going to do to her?"

The thick muscles in his large forearms tensed, and she flinched, watching him warily, aware that the once-neat eyeliner and mascara was now smudged from her tears, and her hair was messed up, too—nothing new there—and her clothes were disheveled. Using one arm to hug herself, she winced, pain making itself known brutally.

The man swallowed hard, licked his lips, and asked in a low, gravelly bass voice, "A little on the accident prone side, aren't you?"

And even in a situation like this, she still managed to blush in embarrassment, feeling blood trickle from her lip, unconsciously bringing a hand up and wiping it away, face almost crumbling at the sight of it. This wasn't on her list of things to do, nor was it _ever _on there. It wasn't supposed to happen—not to people like her, but, then again, that's what everyone said, right?

She heard him sigh, maybe in annoyance? It was hard to tell with him, but regardless, she glanced up at him and tensed reflexively as he walked toward her, his eyes still burning, expecting the worse. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Still, she was silent, watching in cautious confusion, feel surreal, as he grabbed a tissue from the box sitting on the bedside table, bending down, pausing for a moment, before pressing it to her eyebrow—was it bleeding there, too?—and another at her mouth.

"It's going to swell and bruise. Just put ice on it," he mumbled. When she still didn't say anything, he made a sound of irritation, snapping, "Are you going to say anything or just sit there looking like a scared kitten?"

And she flinched away from him. He sighed, running a hand over his bald head, mumbling to himself, "Fucking…don't have time for this shit." Then, he looked at her, and something must have reflected off her face showing her fear and hurt because his jaw clenched, and he said to her, "Sorry…Long day." Still, nothing. "What's your name?"

She swallowed, prepared to answer him, when, suddenly, the door was thrown open with a worried, distraught Edwin yelling frantically, "Emily!"

His eyes centered her, taking in her appearance, and then _him_, and rage flared in his eyes. "What the fuck did you do you her, you sick fuck?" And he crossed the room toward him, drawing his fist back, obviously not caring the dark tanned skin man was twice his size, but before the assault could happen, she watched as her unconventional rescuer grabbed Edwin spinning him around and throwing him into the wall.

"I didn't do shit to her! Maybe if you'd keep a better eye on her, she wouldn't have ended up almost getting raped." And the man yanked Edwin back, slinging him across the room. Edwin stumbled back, almost falling, glaring at the man who returned it fiercely, heatedly.

"Edwin," she spoke up softly, voice cracking, and she stood up shakily. "Stop. He helped me."

Edwin watched him for a few minutes, jaw clenched tightly, wondering if he should believe it, before swallowing hard and nodded. "Are you okay?

The dark man snorted, sneering sarcastically, "Does she fucking look okay to you, blondie?"

Edwin was about to respond, eyes sparking angrily, when she spoke up. "Edwin, just…take me home, please? I want to go home."

Edwin's expression softened as he looked back to her, and he stepped up, wrapping a protective arm around her small shoulders, hugging her tightly, giving the other man one last look before starting to lead her away. She stopped at the door, turning back to her rescuer, and whispered softly, eyes big and intense, "Thank you."

And then, she let Edwin lead her out, feeling shaky and just wanting to curl up in her bed, covered with blankets, trying to regain her sense of safety, unaware that the events of that day was going to follow her…unaware that she'd being seeing both men _very _soon. But she felt foreboding deep within her, a dark feeling she couldn't justify, and as she left, she couldn't help but wonder what was going to come. Whatever it was…she knew it was going to screw her up and over in more ways than one…And she just hoped she was ready… because, ready or not, Fate was coming and it wasn't stopping.

* * *

_Part 3 Fin._


End file.
